Bandaged Moments
by jennyluna
Summary: It only takes a phone call to bring her back into the life she thought she had left behind. (Bucky/OC)
1. Chapter 1

**Bandaged Moments**

For a fraction of a second, Amelia considered ignoring the ringing phone.

She had been in a fitful sort of sleep, drifting in and out of uneasy dreams, and the thought to bury her head under the pillow and pretend she hadn't heard her cell phone was such a welcoming thought. But it was too late at night (or too early in the morning) to really consider ignoring whatever was waiting on the other end of the line. She reached out a hand and slanted the phone towards her, squinting against the brightness of the screen.

 _Unknown Caller._

That definitely didn't sound like good news, she thought, and the jolt of unease helped shed some of the grogginess that clung to her.

"Hello?" Her voice was still thick with sleep, the hoarseness almost making her unintelligible. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello?"

All she heard was silence. After listening for a few seconds she realized she could make out low whispers in the background. The icy cold realization that this wasn't a typical social phone call was rapidly erasing any and all remaining tendrils of sleepiness. As she contemplated the odds of this being a prank call, a wrong number, or even a butt dial, her mind raced to the alternatives.

Car crash? Burglary? Maybe her father's heart had finally had enough, all the cheeseburgers and smoking he did in his early years catching up to him. Maybe her moth-

"Mia?" The voice on the other side was hesitant, but steady. "Is that you?"

Amelia didn't recognize her at first. She certainly hadn't heard that voice in a long time. The moment her mind matched a face to go with the voice, she let out a tiny gasp. Memories rushed to her all at once, everything falling in place as the good and the bad struggled to come to the forefront. Her hand began to shake as it clutched the phone tighter and from a small part of her brain came the gratitude that she was still in bed. She knew she most certainly would have struggled to stand otherwise.

The silence stretched out, either side unwilling to break it. Or not knowing how.

"We need help," Amelia finally heard, her heart thumping in her chest.

Amelia didn't need to ask who the "we" included. For as long as she had known her, the young woman on the phone, she had known _him_. But that was a long time ago.

"Please, Mia. I know…" There was a long pause as the woman from her past struggled to find the words to say. "He needs you, he made me promise I wouldn't try to find you. I wouldn't have called if I had another option." Another pause, this time longer. "He's in trouble."

 _Again_ , Amelia fought back the urge to say. He's in trouble _again._ She pulled the phone away from her ear and took in a couple of shaky breaths. Her thumb floated about the red hang up icon, the desire to make everything disappear almost over taking her. She had enough strength to walk away once, barely, but could she do it again? The woman reaching out to her now, Natasha, had been a huge part in her life at some point, even considered her family. It had killed her to walk away, but keeping her in her life while cutting _him_ out was impossible. In the end, loosing all contact had been the only thing that made sense. It had almost broken her.

And now? Now she was convinced she could handle things differently. Handle _herself_ differently. Potentially.

"Where?"

….

She spotted Natasha almost immediately, her red hair and furtive demeanor dead giveaways.

The diner was completely empty, except the elderly waitress trudging along with a tepid pot of coffee in hand. The walls were a garish burnt orange, long ago faded and deemed too expensive to repaint. Amelia had never been here, and she suspected that Natasha had picked this place for a particular reason.

As soon as she saw Amelia making her way to the back of the diner, she stood up and awkwardly stood by the table. "I almost convinced myself you wouldn't show up."

"I almost didn't."

Both women faced each other and contemplated their situation, neither knowing how to proceed. At last, Amelia sighed and sat down, pulling the laminated and sticky menu towards her. "What's good in this joint?"

Natasha smiled blandly. "Definitely not the food."

Amelia pushed the menu away and glanced at the redhead in front of her. It had been so long since she had seen her, so long since they had simply sat down and had a friendly conversation. The last time they had spoken… well, they hadn't really had a last conversation, had they?

"How did you find my number?" She questioned idly. In truth, the answer wasn't nearly as important as to the why. But she wasn't quite ready to hear the reason, to talk about the elephant in the room. She hoped Natasha knew she felt that way. The woman always had a knack to read people like a book. It was something she had learned to appreciate, if not accept. Whether she used her skill to benefit another was a different story.

"Did you really think you could disappear without a trail? That we wouldn't have a way to find you?" Nat simply raised an eyebrow, seemingly more at ease now that they had sat down and exchanged words. "There was one reason why no one tried to get a hold of you." She paused for a moment, unsure if she should continue. "Well, actually two, if you count his own demands that you be left alone."

Amelia grimaced at the mention, determined not to let herself be rattled. Determined not to let Natasha see her be rattled. She wrapped her jacket tighter around her, suddenly regretting her decision not to get dressed in proper clothes. Her wool pajama pants and plain t-shirt were doing a poor job in instilling confidence and commanding respect. Especially in comparison to Natasha's skin tight jeans, black boots, and stone cold stare. The woman certainly knew how to unnerve an individual.

"I tried so hard to leave this life behind, Nat." Amelia leaned forward, elbows on the table and face resting on her cupped hands. "You can't call me in the middle of the night and expect me to come back with open arms. It's not that easy, it was never that easy."

"I know."

"Then why are we here, Nat? Why did you call me?" Amelia was unaware that she had raised her voice, but a quick frown from the waitress gave her an idea. She lowered her tone, but not the borderline desperation coating it. "I have a life now. I have a job… I can't drop everything again for this. _For him_."

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, if I thought I could help him myself." Natasha looked at her pointedly, her gaze steady and unflinching. "You once promised to have his back until the end. I'm just trying to cash in on that promise."

Amelia felt the words land a punch to her gut, felt the heavy weight settle in her heart. She had said those words, many times in fact. And she had meant them.

"But things change," she half whispered. "The man I made those promises to..."She let her voice trail off, knowing Natasha would understand what she was trying to say.

"He needs you." Natasha leaned back on her chair, never taking her eyes off of her. "You brought him back once from the edge, and you can do that again."

"And if I can't? If he's too far gone?" Amelia played with a loose thread coming undone from her pants, quietly voicing the fear that both women shared. She had spent the last few years of her life trying desperately to move on from the life that had nearly killed her. It hadn't been easy, but she had done it. She had cut herself off from the people she loved dearly, had spent months regretting her choice. Finally, she had been able to come to terms with it. Now it all seemed...irrelevant.

"That's why I called you. The bond you shared was enough to save him once. Maybe it will be enough again." Natasha glanced at her watch, frowned, and shook her head. "We don't have a lot of time. I need to know now if you're willing to help."

Amelia had long ago forgiven Natasha for the cold, and quite frankly, rude way she dealt with people. But that was years ago and this time was different. This time she had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and taken to a place she was unfamiliar with. She was no longer the naive child who spent a good chunk of time feeding a silly infatuation (definitely not love) that only seemed to lead to bad decisions. This time she had an actual backbone.

"No, don't do that. Don't put pressure on me." The waitress had been hovering in the back, going from wiping the wobbly tables to sweeping the back corner of the diner. Amelia felt the hairs on the back of her head stand up but she couldn't tell why. She focused on the impatient face of the woman in front of her. "Besides, you haven't exactly been forthcoming with me."

Natasha looked startled at the accusation but not surprised. "What exactly do you want to know? I can't tell you much until I know you're in, but you already knew that."

Yes, Amelia knew the rules of the game, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try and bend them. "Why now, Nat? What could have possibly happened to force your hand this way? I left, I deserted the team. I betrayed everything that you stood for. You should be trying to kill me, not trying to convince me to come back."

And that's when Amelia truly realized the gravity of the situation. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Natasha's face changed. The facade fell and she could see the crack in the armor. In a fit of desperation she wished she hadn't asked because whatever the reason was, it was enough to bring tears to Natasha's eyes. She, who had buried too many family members without shedding a single tear, was now wiping a traitorous one from her cheek.

"Steve Rogers is dead."

And just like that, the decision was made.

ooooo

A/N: I have spent a long time away from writing so forgive any mistakes along the way. All characters are human (so no green hulk) but I will try to retain character personalities as much as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Amelia stood in the doorway of her apartment and contemplated the past twelve hours of her life. She hadn't been back to her place since she left abruptly in the middle of the night to meet Natasha and the evidence showed just that.

There was the cup of coffee still sitting on the table where she had forgotten it (her version of liquid courage since it had been too early to break out the tequila). There were the random pieces of paper scattered around the floor where, in her frustration, she had pushed them off the dining room table. The state of her apartment very clearly showed the state of her mind when she had left: scattered and disorganized.

She took a few steps in, almost hesitantly, and fought very hard against the rock hard lump in her throat. She tried to pretend nothing was amiss, that Natasha hadn't just told her one of her best friends had died. She briefly wondered if she could still call him friend, after all, she _had_ left them all behind.

Yes, she thought despondently. Steve would still consider them friends.

It made the crack in her heart splinter even further.

She knew what she had to do. She knew the steps she had to take to prepare to go back to that life. It didn't make the actual doing it any easier. What she really wanted to do, however, was dig back into her bed, throw the blanket over her head, and give in to the wave of sadness that hung over her.

Instead, she walked over to her computer and began the difficult task of severing all the connections she had made over the years. Her boss at the youth center where she worked received a perfunctory resignation email. Co-workers and casual acquaintances received an apology and vague explanation for her abrupt departure. She briefly considered calling the friends who had been more that just people she knew, but Natasha's last warning still rang in her mind.

 _Don't let personal attachments keep you from focusing on the endgame._

She swallowed the bitter feeling of shame and trekked on, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she methodically expelled from her life everyone who would notice her absence. There were more people than she had originally thought. Everyone who had helped fill the emptiness inside five years ago were now receiving nothing more than a line or two for their troubles.

But there was a group of people that made her stop.

Her kids, the youths she counseled on a daily basis, were going to prove a lot more difficult to cut out of her life. They had already been dealt a crappy hand, most of them coming from the streets or abusive homes, and now she was turning her back on them. There were other counselors who were more than capable of taking over, but she saw them as _hers_. Her responsibility, and now, another thing she was giving up.

Was that what she was going to be remembered? The woman who kept no promises and abandoned everything? It was what she deserved, at least.

But there was a reason now why she was uprooting her life again.

She felt a sharp pang of pain and felt her breath hitch. _Not now_ , she thought desperately. _Just hold on a little longer._

There was still one phone call to make and she needed her wits about her to get through it. She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number. For one hopeful second she thought no one would answer, that this painful task would be pushed back. If only for a little while.

"Hello, sweatheart," she heard from the other end, and her heart sank. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

Her mother's crisp and teasing tone brought another wave of sadness upon her. She'd had to make this call before, once, and the weight of her decision back then was still the thing she regretted the most.

"Ma." And she couldn't help it. The shake in her voice, the tremble in her lips, everything came out in that little word and her mother caught it.

"Amelia, what's wrong?"

She concentrated on breathing, on keeping the sobs reigned in until her mother could no longer hear them. She held on, barely. "Ma, I have to go."

"Go?" There was a pause. "Baby, you're not making any sense. What do you mean you have to go? Go where?"

"I have to go again, I have to leave." And this time her mother got it. She heard rustling over the phone, heavy breathing.

"Aaron! Get down here!" She heard her mother's panicked voice calling out for her dad and she knew she didn't deserved the loving and supportive parents she had. They certainly didn't deserve what she was doing to them. Again.

"Ma, listen." She took a deep breath and tried to get her mother's attention once more. "Ma, please. You have to listen to me."

"Don't do this, Amelia." Her mother's voice was small and pleading. Amelia knew if she didn't get off the line soon, if she didn't keep this phone call under two minutes, she would give in. She would tell her mother the truth (the real truth, not the "truth" she had given her last time) and that was something she couldn't risk. She was the poster child of what happened when someone knew too much.

"I can't talk for too long, but you have to listen. It's very important that you and dad follow the same rules as last time."

"But-"

"No, Ma. Just listen." Amelia clenched her eyes shut, counted her breaths before she continued. "You can't try to find me. You can't call me, you can't call the cops, you can't talk to anyone about this." Another deep breath. "You have to pretend I fell off the face of the planet."

"Baby, you're asking for the impossible." She knew her mother was crying, could almost feel the grief through the cell phone. "We're your parents. We can't ever stop looking for you, even if we can't understand why you left."

"You have to. You both do. I know apologizing is not going to ever be enough, but it's all I can give you right now. Maybe someday I can finally tell you why, but for now, you have to do this." It wasn't the whole truth, Amelia knew. There was never going to be a day when she could tell her parents the real reason, but that was something her mother didn't have to know at the moment.

"Amelia, please. You have no idea what we went through five years ago. You have no idea how hard it was to know you went through something horrible and we couldn't ask what. Don't put us through that again, baby."

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I can't explain and I can't ask you to understand. But please do what I ask. No phone calls. No visits. Nothing." Amelia could hear her father's voice in the distance, her mother's cry bringing him out of his study. "Please tell daddy I love him and I'm sorry."

She hung up before she changed her mind. Before she completely broke down and begged her parents to come to her and make everything better. She held the phone tightly and quickly pressed the power button until the screen went black. The hardest part was done.

And now she could grieve.

She made it to her bedroom, kicking her shoes off along the way, and threw herself on the bed, pulling the blanket around her and holding it tight. The sobs she had kept inside her never came. Instead, she shivered uncontrollably, her teeth rattling. She wondered, briefly, why she was really doing this. If it was worth it.

Steve Rogers' face lingered in her mind, his eyes warm and his smile friendly.

The other face came too. _His_. Eyes filled with contempt and lips that hardly smiled.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She finally allowed herself to think his name, to allow her memories to roam free. The conversations, the fleeting touches, and the fights. Oh yes, their fights had been intense. They could bring down buildings with just their screaming matches. But that was then.

If Steve Rogers was dead, then how was his best friend holding up?

If she could help to keep him from crossing the line he danced on, didn't she own him, _them_ , to try? It's what Steve would have wanted, that she knew for sure.

And that's why she was doing it, in the end. She still remembered, with perfectly clarity, the last words Steve Rogers ever spoke to her.

 _Do what you have to do, kid, but don't ever turn your back on friends._

…

On the other side of town, in a nondescript motel, a man and a woman sat in front of a laptop, quietly watching the screen.

"Gotta say you taught her well, Nat," the man said, an eyebrow raised. The words on the screen scrolled down as the red head continued tapping at the keyboard. "I figured she would have broken down before she even got to the parents."

"Then you haven't been paying attention, Clint. That girl has ice in her veins." Natasha looked up and grinned. "But I agree with you. The callousness in those emails is pure me."

Clint Barton got up from his sitting position and stretched, walking over to the mini fridge. He pulled a water out and gulped half of it before he seemingly realized something.

"I'm more curious as to how you managed to pull her back in at all." He gave the redhead a searching look. "Without revealing compromising information, that is."

Natasha hesitated, her eyes on the screen to avoid looking into her partner's face. She had lied her way into high official's private quarters. She had used her knowledge to take down tyrants and topple down regimes. She had taken multiple assailants on hand to hand combat and had come out on top.

But the man before her was her weakness. There was nothing that he couldn't take just by looking in her eyes. If he was asking then he already knew.

"I told her about Steve. Well, the short of it, anyway."

"Jesus, Nat. That wasn't your information to give."

"It worked, didn't it? You weren't there, Clint. I could see she wasn't going to come on her own. She needed to be pushed in that direction." Natasha wasn't used to explaining her actions, having worked solo for much of her career. But Clint wasn't a superior demanding an explanation for a perceived mistake.

He was her partner.

Clint rubbed his face and sighed. "How did she take it? They had become unusually close towards the end."

Natasha gestured towards the laptop, Amelia's emails still on full display. "She's saying goodbye. That's how she took it."

Clint began pacing around the room. He was never one to sit still. "Still, Nat. Not everyone is going to be happy about this. Tony, for one, was pissed we let her go to begin with."

"Stark gets pissed if his coffee gets too cold." The redhead shrugged, not bothered with her partner's words. "We need her."

"We needed her last time, too. What makes you think she won't turn her back again and run away."

Natasha stood up and walked towards the window, peeking behind the curtain. It was mostly out of habit; she had personally taken care of the security checks herself. There was no one in the motel parking lot except a few guests and their children unloading their belongings from their car.

"For one, she wasn't threatened to work for us this time. She chose to come back and that should make a difference." She turned back to her partner and leveled a knowing stare at him. "For another, there's Bucky."

"Are you sure there's still something there? It's been five years after all."

"She wouldn't even say his name," Natasha countered. She knew something so trivial shouldn't have convinced her, but she had been doing this for a long time. People had a tendency to say more where they said nothing at all. It was human nature.

"I hope you're right, Nat. We're risking a lot for a gut feeling." Clint wasn't in the business of doubting his partner, but he also wasn't in the business of bringing back deserters. And he had done both today.

"We've risked a lot more for a lot less," was the response, and Clint couldn't argue with that.

"What's the plan, then? We don't have the team's resources for a clean extraction this time. Somebody's bound to miss her and get trigger happy to call the cops."

"I really am worried about you, Clint," Natasha teased. "Age must be getting to you. Surely you didn't come this far on the assumption we didn't have a plan. You gotta give me a little more credit than that."

"Sometimes I _do_ think I'm getting too old for this." Clint began stretching exaggeratedly. "All my bones popping and my joints creaking. Definitely a sign I need to buy a farm somewhere and retire."

"The day you hang up your hat I'll be right there with you, Barton, farm and all. But I know I still have a few years left in me. In both of us."

"Sure, sure." He smiled softly and the redhead returned it. "But no geese. Our farm will be a goose free environment."

They began packing up, silently, when they were convinced that the woman they were observing digitally had done everything to their satisfaction.

There was a silent agreement not to bring up the farm dream again, not aloud, and certainly not to anyone else. They both knew it was what it was, just a dream.

There would be no retirement, no secluded farm out in a remote part of the country. That was just the life that they had agreed to lead, to carry the obligation of the mission (missions) to the end.

And if Natasha felt a tingle of guilt at being the driving force in bringing an innocent back into the fold, well, she certainly had the training to keep it from rising to the surface.

...

A/N: Once again, forgive any mistakes (letting me know is better) and hope you enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _The woman sat on the bed, her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. The tray of food in front of her sat untouched, as had the previous one, and the one before that. She had yet to speak a word._

" _Amelia." He spoke softly, the man who had been sent in to interrogate her. Only, they hadn't quite used that word, had they? "You have to eat. It's for your own good."_

 _Like they cared for her well being, hostage as she was. She raised her brown eyes to his and he could read the silent accusation in them._

" _Yes, you're right. You have every reason to feel distrustful. I promise, however, that hurting you is the last thing we want to do." He took off his glasses and began wiping them with a piece of cloth he pulled from his pocket. "We just need you to answer a few questions."_

 _She placed her head on her knees, her lank dark hair falling around her face and creating a shield between her and the "doctor". First, she didn't have to eat. It was the first and last thing she could control in this place and damn it if they were going to take that away from her. Second… no, she had nothing else. She stubbornly turned away from the man before her and refused to acknowledge him any further._

 _She heard a sigh and felt the bed shift as he lowered himself next to her._

" _I'm not the enemy, Amelia, not in here. But the man from before, from the_ _book store_ _,_ he _is dangerous. You know that already, you were there." He placed a hand on her head and she flinched. He removed it. "We need to know what you know about him. We need to know how you stopped him from killing that day."_

 _She felt a shard of ice travel down her spine._

 _She didn't really want to think about that day. It was one of the scariest experience in her life, and she still couldn't understand exactly what had happened herself. Not to mention, it also led to her being held prisoner in this place._

 _True, it was more luxurious than any prison she could think of, with Egyptian cotton sheets and a huge flat screen TV hanging on the wall. The food she had been offered had been nothing short of gourmet and the bathroom was a spa all on it's own._

Still _._

 _A prison was a prison._

…

The hot sun hit Amelia on the face, the brightness blinding her to the point of tears. She got out of the car slowly, her limbs stiff after sitting for several hours.

Her companion was already ahead of her, walking towards the dingy convenience store falling apart on the side of the desolate road. She followed suit quickly, hoping for a restroom as she had had the need for one for the past hour or so; all the water she had consumed was coming back to fight her. Putting her hand over her eyes, she took a quick look around. Having slept a good portion of the drive, her surroundings were a bit unfamiliar to her. The heat was the most obvious thing she noticed. She could almost see the heat waves emanating from the hard ground in the distance. Surprisingly, however, she spotted a lot of green. Most of the landscape, in fact, _was_ green. Vast, flat, and green.

The pit stop had come at a good time for her, but she was surprised it had come at all. There had been no sign of civilization for the past half hour, nothing but a lonely road, bushes, and the occasional armadillo (she had twisted her head sharply when she caught one waddling off on the side of the road). There was a certain kind of beauty to her surroundings, she thought idly. Nothing like the straight lines, hurried crowds, and artificial lights of her Chicago dwelling.

She wasn't really an outdoor girl, but this...this was kind of beautiful.

Also potentially deadly, given the oppressive hotness that weighed on her. In the short distance from the black SUV to the store entrance she felt she had baked to a crisp. The sun was unrelenting and she had little experience with the scorching rays. Her feet crunched gravel all the way to the front entrance, dust settling on every surface of her body.

Through the glass door, she could see Natasha heading to the back, presumably to the coolers. Amelia made it inside and sighed with relief at the cool air hitting her skin. She had already formed a layer of sweat on her face, drops lingering on her upper lip.

Texas.

She had looked at Natasha with disbelief when she was told where they would be going. That night in the diner had been surreal, to say the least, but there was nothing in her imagination that would have pictured them here. Stark Tower where she was held the first time, or some other boring and gray government-like building seemed likely, but Texas had been as far away from her mind as Jupiter. It was another thing she would have to get used to, the unpredictability of their life. Her life now.

She ran into Natasha coming back from the coolers, two cold waters in hand.

"My eyeballs almost boiled in the two seconds I was outside," she remarked, eyeing the dark sunglasses the redhead had pushed to the top of her head.

Natasha tapped the sunglasses and grinned. "Not my fault you refused to go through the bag I gave you."

Amelia grimaced and didn't respond. She felt pretty silly now, but when Nat had given her the black knapsack she had tossed it in the back seat with a show of manufactured independence. She didn't want anyone packing her bags for her. She certainly didn't want it to seem like she needed it.

Without acknowledging her remark, she set out to find a bathroom. Judging by the way everything was covered with dust, and spiderwebs were allowed to grow unchecked, she was fearing the state of the bathroom. Should she find one, of course. However, the pressure in her bladder was rapidly erasing any care about the cleanliness of said restroom.

At last, in the back corner she saw the familiar men/women sign plastered on a door. The fact that there was only one restroom for both sexes worried her, but there was nothing to be done about that. She made her way inside and the smell immediately hit her. Forcing her gag reflex down, she proceeded to do her business.

It wasn't until she was done that she realized the toilet didn't flush. Nor did the sink have running water. She groaned and thanked her lucky stars that she _only_ needed to pee. Finding a pack of disinfecting wipes only added to her luck, and after "washing" her hands, she quickly made an escape.

She found Natasha at the front of the store, deep in conversation with the only employee in the store. The older gentleman was clearly admiring the redhead's good looks, his gaze dropping not too discretely to her chest every few seconds.

When Natasha saw Amelia lurking in the back, she cut off the man mid sentence and came to find her.

"Is there something else you need?" She lowered her voice a fraction. "I don't recommend you get anything that's meant to be edible, except the water. I happen to know they haven't had a merchandise delivery in over a year."

Amelia shook her head and Natasha seemed satisfied with her response. "In that case, off we go. We still have several hours left."

"There" still being a mystery to Amelia. She had asked, of course, but her companion had remained frustratingly tight lipped about the entire journey, only choosing to talk about trivial things. She quickly made her way back to the car, settling herself comfortably in her seat, and prepared mentally for the rest of the trip. There was a solid ten minutes of driving before Amelia heard something she thought was impossible. _Snickering_. Her stern faced and usually composed companion was actually snickering.

She glanced at her, the dark sunglasses on the redhead's face covering her eyes, but Amelia didn't doubt that they were flashing with mirth. She didn't have to wait a long time for an explanation. "I can't believe you actually used that restroom."

"I can't believe you didn't," Amelia retorted, indignation coloring her words. "You must have a bladder of steel. Or is that something they teach you in spy school, absorbing your pee back into your blood system."

Natasha let out a hearty laugh and shook her head. "I've been on stake outs for hours on end. You learn to improvise when you're on the field. Like going _on_ a field. Intro to Espionage 101."

Amelia couldn't help but give in to a smile. This was the Natasha she remembered from before, the teasing and laughter on par with their friendship. It felt natural to her, almost too easy, to fall back on their effortless conversation and dynamic. Or at least at times it did. Sometimes it was hard to separate Natasha the Spy with Natasha the Friend.

She watched as her companion reached for something in the back seat, pulling it out with one deft motion, eyes never straying from the road. She threw the knapsack once again towards her, and this time Amelia accepted it.

"There might be more in there you can use," were her only cryptic words and Amelia proceeded to unzip it quietly.

The first thing she noticed were a pair of sunglasses. More useful then fashionable, she quickly shoved them on her face. Although the SUV's windows were probably tinted beyond what was legally allowed, the sun rays still found a way to scorch her eyes through the windshield. The next couple of items were utilitarian as well; sun screen, bug repellent, and even a thick pair of socks.

"You know, if I had more time to pack, I could have gotten all these things myself," Amelia reminded her.

"I know," Natasha responded. "Sometimes it's easy to forget I'm not supposed to micromanage everything around me, especially those who can take care of themselves."

But Amelia didn't hear her reply.

She had found something in the bottom of the bag, something Natasha had obviously wanted her to see. It was a picture; a candid photo that captured a good portion of the group. There was Wanda (spunky Wanda) with Sam, both unaware of the camera. There was Dr. Banner, professional as usual, even with the loose tie and glasses askew. Tony Stark lingered in the back, his arms spread wide as he talked animatedly to someone out of the camera's focus. But it was the three in the forefront that caught her attention immediately.

Steve's face slammed her in the gut. He wasn't smiling, but she recalled that day, that moment, perfectly. His eyes were crinkled at the corners and he was clearly bemused with the sneak photo attack. Her own face stared back at her, framed by brown hair and bangs, and her shoulders touching his. She was clearly comfortable with the company, no longer skittish or afraid. She remembered it took a long time for that to happen.

Steve had played a huge part in it.

The couch had barely fit all three of them, with Steve on one side and Bucky on the other. Bucky (James? She didn't quite know what would be appropriate to call him. She didn't want to take allowances reserved for friends) was not the smiling type. But in this photo, he had come close. He was leaning slightly towards her, his thighs pressed against hers, and his hands dangling in front of him.

The vividness of the memories surrounding this photo was overwhelming. Steve had eventually left to chat with someone else, leaving the two of them on the couch together. He had, at some point, reached over and grabbed her hand, fingers threading loosely. The warmth of his hand, combined with her shy disbelief that "something" was happening between them, was powerful then, as it was now.

No longer able to handle seeing her past frozen in one slightly blurry photo, she turned it around. It took her a second to realize that something was written on the back, one single word a midst all the white.

 _Friends._

She recognized Steve's handwriting almost immediately. Suddenly, she was grateful for the sunglasses for more than one reason. Natasha seemed to recognize her emotions.

"We're not supposed to keep photos," she said, breaking the silence. "With our job it wouldn't really be prudent to have these floating around, you know." She turned her face slightly towards Amelia, her voice softer. "Steve must have hidden it well."

Amelia knew a warning when she heard one. If she wanted to hang on to this, she had to be crafty in making sure no one found it.

"Thank you." Her voice was practically a whisper, but she knew Natasha heard her. "I hadn't seen this before."

"Clint was supposed to delete all the test photos he took that day, but he managed to print one off for Steve." Natasha shrugged. "I'm not sure how anyone else missed that, but they may have just turned a blind eye."

Amelia could see everyone doing that, for Steve. And she was glad they did.

The rest of the drive went by relatively smooth. At some point, she drifted off to sleep again, her eyelids closing against her will. When she woke up again, dry mouthed and groggy, it was already dusky outside.

"How long was I out?" She asked an alert Natasha. "You could have woken me up to keep you company."

"I have driven my myself a lot longer than that and you needed to get some rest. It's been almost non stop for you since we met at the diner." She paused, seemingly unsure of her next words. "There might be times when sleep is a distant illusion. Whenever you can catch some hours of sleep, do it."

Amelia appreciated the sentiment, but she also knew it went both ways. There was a time when she truly believed _none_ of them slept.

She quickly noticed the reason she had awoken, apart from the weird and fragmented dreams. The road had gone from patchy but relatively smooth, to absolutely chaotic. Her eyeballs were practically dancing out of their sockets.

"Where are we?"

"Almost there," was the response, and her stomach dropped. "Don't over think this, Amelia. Most of us understand why you had to leave, or at least are trying to. Those who might have a problem, well, I won't let them _be_ a problem."

"Thanks, Nat, but I can't have you fighting all my battles." Amelia sighed and leaned her head forward until it was pressed against the glass. She quickly removed it when the bumpy road almost gave her a concussion. "Besides, after five years, I imagine it'll be hard to find someone who still cares."

Natasha stayed suspiciously quiet, neither agreeing nor countering her comment. Instead, she simply pulled the car in front of a house, parked and killed the engine. Amelia looked around in confusion.

"Why are we stopping here? Are you picking someone else up?" She looked around, noticing how homey the house looked, with the large porch and the soft porch light erasing some of the encroaching shadows.

Natasha arched an eyebrow and looked at her sympathetically. "No, Amelia. This is it. We are here."

"We can't be here, Nat." Amelia's panic spiked and she almost grasped the redhead's arm before she remembered she didn't like to be touched. "This _can't_ be a government sanctioned... _anything_. This looks like somebody's grandma lives here."

Natasha grinned. "I'll be sure to let Stark know. He was pretty pleased in finding this place." She saw Amelia's growing anxiousness and went on. "You haven't been here from the beginning, Amelia. Some of our safe houses have ranged from million dollar penthouses to barely holding it together at the seams. We have to go where the mission dictates."

"I know that, Natasha. I'm not trying to be..." She took a deep breath and thought hard about how she wanted to phrase her next sentence. "It's a house. Houses have kitchens and dining rooms and..."

"Less places to hide?"

Amelia scrunched her nose. "Yeah, they have that, too."

"I promised myself I wouldn't meddle, but I'd have to be completely oblivious to not realize that this is about Bucky."

"It's not," Amelia argued, weakly. "It shouldn't be."

Natasha stared at her intently, her expression mostly hidden by the darkness. "I'm sorry if this offends you, but you two had the most screwed up relationship I've ever seen."

Amelia turned her head sharply in shock. "I'm not sure-"

"Don't play the innocent card, Amelia. You know I'm right." Natasha shifted in her seat. "You were terrified of him, couldn't handle being in the same room. Not that I blamed you, though, especially after the way you met." She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, brows scrunched together. "It blew all our minds when you two started getting along. You can imagine our reaction when the smooching began."

Amelia's face burned. "There wasn't any smooching, Nat. We were simply getting to know each other."

"I seem to remember _one_ particular smooch. Almost gave poor Bruce a heart attack. He still thought you two hated each other."

Amelia smiled reluctantly at the memory. She could still hear the shocked stammering from the genius as he tried to comprehend how two people who spent weeks screaming at each other, were now locking lips. Her stomach clenched as she also remembered what happened not too long after that. "I left. Not three days later, I left."

"Yes." Natasha grabbed a flip phone from the cup holder, opened it and read a text. "And now you're coming back."

"I still don't know what to expect, Nat. You haven't exactly given me much to go on. You mentioned you needed me to help Bucky, but I still don't know how."

"I left things vague on purpose, Amelia." She glanced at the phone again, her mouth stretched into a thin line. "Impatient bastards," she muttered.

Amelia waited for an explanation.

"If you knew too much, you would be overwhelmed," Natasha finally said. "I wanted you to come back, but it had to be on your own terms. This time."

"I don't know if I can do this, not the way you want me to."

"We can spend a hundred hours in this car discussing it, but the truth is quite simple. You won't know what you're getting into until you step foot inside the house and see for yourself."

"And everyone is there? How does that work, exactly, everyone living together?" Amelia tried picturing it, but was left with a slightly nauseous feeling. Would she randomly go into the kitchen one morning and find _him_ in there, drinking a cup of coffee, newspaper in hand? It all seemed pretty surreal. The last place had been much bigger, like she practically had her own floor bigger. She could easily avoid anyone she wanted.

"Amelia, stop focusing on the small stuff. You'll get your answers soon enough, in the meantime, these idiots are blowing up this phone trying to see why we're taking too long in here."

Amelia swallowed hard and knew she had to get over it eventually. She certainly couldn't hide out in the car for eternity, as appealing as that sounded. "Okay, you're right."

The both got out of the SUV at the same time, Amelia much more reluctantly. She couldn't help but think about Steve, about what he would say if he knew she was coming back after everything that happened. Five years was a long time to stay away, she knew.

She wasn't ready to walk through the front door, not at all, but she still found the will to make her legs carry her closer.

…

A/N: As always, thanks for taking the time to read, please forgive any mistakes. Next chapter will have more character interactions, as well as more explanations about everything so far. Quick question for anyone reading: How do you feel about flashbacks? I plan on using them again in the future, and would like to have your feedback.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _She didn't see him at first._

 _With her arms loaded with shopping bags and a cellphone pressed against her ear, she almost walked past him and noticed nothing about him. She was pressed for time, having pushed her Christmas shopping up to a few days before the actual day, and she was busy trying to survive the crowds that gathered during the festive season._

 _There was plenty of pushing and arguing and noises. She even had the luck to see two grown women fighting over the toy of the "moment". She knew she couldn't be too judgmental, she herself was laden with commercial merchandise; it was simply too hard to resist the Holiday Cheer. She had one more stop, just one more, before she could call her shopping expedition a success. As her destination was across the mall, she put her blinders on to avoid getting distracted with colorful decorations, and she set off._

 _If she hadn't dropped one of her smaller bags, there was a chance that she would have never seen him. But she did, and as she straightened up (fallen purchase safely clutched in hand) she noticed the tall man standing at the entrance of a department store. He wasn't particularly noticeable, nothing to advertise what his true intentions were. His hair was long, almost too long, and he was staring intently towards the direction she was headed._

 _Amelia wasn't sure what unsettled her about him. He wasn't behaving in any way to lead her to suspect something was amiss. And yet…_

 _Maybe it was the unblinking stare, fixated on something in the far distance._

 _Maybe it was the too still way he was standing, his posture rigidly straight._

 _Or maybe it was just the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up._

 _She couldn't ponder the reasons for too long. In an abrupt and sudden manner, the man began walking, his pace fast and clearly with direction. Amelia stood rooted in place, wondering why no one else could see that there was something dangerously_ wrong _with this person. The world was still spinning, people were still shopping, and he was still walking._

 _Throughout her life, Amelia had made questionable decisions that would come to bite her in the butt. There was the middle school hair style she cut herself, back when she knew everything. There were the boyfriends who tore tiny little tears in her heart, time and time again. There was even a tattoo that she refused to talk about._

 _This._

 _This, however, was on a different scale._

 _She decided to follow him._

…

All the faces staring back at her were impassive.

Natasha had led her through the front door, past the living room, and into the kitchen. She hadn't expected to meet everyone in one go, but here she was, standing before everyone while they stared in silence. Not exactly everyone, she could see. There were faces missing. One in particular she was glad she didn't have to deal with just yet.

The silence was almost deafening; it took everything in Amelia's power not to run back out the way she came in. It helped that Clint gave her an encouraging smile. She had never been at ease with Natasha's partner, but the fact that he was willing to give a sign of support was enough to keep her knees from giving out.

Wanda also gave her a friendly smile, breaking the bored expression on her face as she leaned against the kitchen counter. Bruce Banner, the man who "interrogated" her during the early days, stood up and walked up to her.

"It's damn good to see you, kid." He stretched out his hand, as if a handshake was what was appropriate. Amelia hesitated for a fraction of a second before she launched herself at him in a tight embrace. She knew Banner wasn't a hugging individual, but couldn't seem to stop herself. It didn't help that he bore a strong resemblance to her father. She felt his arms wrap around her, patting her on the back along the way.

"It's been a while, huh," she responded. He took a step back and gave her a searching look.

"Short hair suits you," he finally decided. Amelia grabbed the strands of brown hair brushing her shoulders with her hand, smiling. She still couldn't believe that there was a time she strongly disliked this man. His clinical way of talking, his straightforwardness, made her think he was cold. In reality, he was a walking genius who had a hard time interacting with people.

As he made his way back to his seat, she couldn't help but look around. The kitchen was tiny (made even more so by all the bodies crammed in), but warm. There was a small window in front of the sink, the reflection on the glass showing the group of people gathering around. It looked like they had been in the middle of something, papers spread before everyone, and more than one laptop's bright screen staring at Amelia.

"If y'all are done reintroducing yourselves, can we continue, please? I want to get to bed at a reasonable hour." Wanda impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter, her foot tapping the bottom rung of the bar stool she was perched on.

Natasha turned to the younger woman, her face an expression of amusement. "Y'all? Wanda, you've only been in Texas for six weeks."

Wanda pointed her foot, clad in a cowboy boot, towards Natasha. "You above everyone else knows the importance of assimilating with the locals."

Natasha merely shook her head and headed to the small table pushed to the back of the kitchen. She motioned for Amelia to join her. As she walked, she couldn't help but meet the furrowed gaze of Tony Stark.

He most definitely was not pleased to see her. Amelia swallowed and continued on, trying to avoid the dark eyes that bore their gaze directly at her. It was hard, seeing as the small kitchen didn't leave much room to avoid the coldness emanating from him. She hadn't had the pleasure of enjoying much interaction with the eccentric billionaire, all their conversations including only aspects of the job. She had never had negative feelings towards him, however. She had assumed, at that time, that he had felt the same. She tried not to take it personally, but the warning glance that Natasha sent his way let her know it wasn't just her imagination overreacting.

"Seeing that our group had been breached by an outsider, maybe we should leave further discussions until a later time." His voice was clipped and low, his demeanor letting everyone know exactly who his words were directed towards.

Amelia swallowed hard but didn't say anything. She knew not everything was going to be smooth sailing. She had anticipated some hostility from the others, knew she deserved it. What actually surprised her a bit was the source. Tony had never been someone she had gotten along with, or rather he had never bothered with someone like her. It seemed surreal that he would be so disturbed by her presence when he had never seemed to care before.

"Tony, we agreed to leave our personal feelings at the door." Clint surprised her by loudly defending her. Amelia tried to look composed by the whole thing but her heart was hammering inside her chest. She hated conflict, hated that they clearly had some form of discussion about her before her entrance. The last thing she wanted was to ruffle feathers.

"Personal feelings?" Tony put up a feigned expression of innocence. "I truly don't know what you can _possibl_ _y_ mean, Barton." He looked around, his obviously expensive form slightly out of place in the humble kitchen. "I'm simply concerned about the discretion of the whole thing. I find it hard to accept we are willing to talk mission details with any stray that got picked up along the road."

"Amelia has been here before, Tony. She's not exactly a stranger that dropped on our laps." Amelia was grateful that Bruce was making an effort on her behalf, was grateful to all of them, really. Wanda, quiet as she was, was still giving her silent signals of support. She couldn't have them carrying her burdens forever, however.

"I'm sorry about everything, Tony. I shouldn't have expected-"

"Don't." He finally looked directly at her, his stare gluing her to the chair she sat on. "You shouldn't have come back at all."

Natasha had watched everyone with detached interest, her eyebrows raising at certain parts. She stood up now, a hand held up to Tony's chest. "Outside, now."

Tony laughed and Amelia wondered if she had ever heard a laugh so sarcastic. "Are you asking or ordering?"

"Move on your own, Stark, or I _will_ move you." The redhead seemed to have lost all patience with the billionaire, if her flat voice was anything to go by.

"No need, Romanoff." He spread his arms wide. "I wasn't keen on hanging around, anyway." He pointed a finger at Clint. "And you fill me in later. I am not going in blind just because none of you can see the stupidity in bringing _her_ back."

He turned sharply and practically stomped out of the room, his expensive cologne leaving a trail behind him.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Immature baby," she muttered, before following him.

There was a quiet lull in the room as the remaining occupants considered their situation. Amelia's face burned, Wanda looked amused, and Bruce seemed more concerned with the contents of his iPad. Only Clint seemed to be considering following the bickering duo.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Wanda finally said, her smile kind. "We've all known you'd be back eventually."

"You... knew I'd be back?" Amelia frowned, unable to comprehend the concept.

Wanda stared back, her blue eyes wide. "You didn't?"

Amelia found she couldn't answer. She was dismayed to find most of her courage had deserted her the moment her redheaded security blanket had walked out of the room. _So much for being self-reliant_.

…

Natasha caught up with Tony at the edge of the large oak tree, her legs slowing down as she realized he had come to a stop.

"Stark."

Tony's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't turn around. "Romanoff." He glanced back, if only to emphasize his words with his eyes. "Shouldn't you be back with your ward? With her history, she could be halfway to Mexico by now."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "If you could take your head out of your own ass for two seconds, we might actually be able to have a grownup conversation."

"What do you want, Natasha?"

"I just want to remind you that your attitude is misplaced. Amelia hasn't done anything to deserve your -"

"Hasn't _done_ anything? Wasn't it you who personally escorted agents out of SHIELD headquarters for simply considering leaving?"

"That was different and you know it," Natasha countered, her calmness a cold contrast to Tony Stark's growing anger. "Since you can't seem to remember, let me remind you; we practically kidnapped the woman and forced this life on her."

Tony shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, that stopped being a factor the moment she made the decision to stay." He pointed a finger at Natasha. "You were there, we all were. She was given an out, given a chance to go home and forget everything. She chose to stay."

"Tony-"

"We all made a promise, not only to the team, but to each other." He rubbed his face and laughed dryly. "If you want to forget that, Romanoff, go ahead. But don't expect the world to agree with you."

Natasha saw the anger, but she knew it covered a deeper meaning. "I've read your file, Tony. Your _real_ file."

His eyes narrowed and he moved closer to her. Natasha didn't budge. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that we both know this has little to do with Amelia." Natasha uncrossed her arms and moved forward to meet his own advancing steps. "You have every right to be angry, Stark. Just make sure it's directed at the right people."

Natasha gave him one last searching look before heading back inside, leaving the man to simmer in his own emotions.

…

Amelia was glad to see Natasha come back, her face revealing nothing of what occurred between her and Tony.

"Unfortunately, this means we have to cut our meeting short." Natasha glanced at Wanda. "Please show Amelia her sleeping arrangements."

Wanda gave the okay sign and motioned at Amelia to follow her. "You get to bunk with me, but I can give you the grand tour first."

The grand tour ended up being a quick walk through around the public spaces of the house. Wanda didn't say much, not until she led them to a hallway off of the living room. "The master bedroom is on the opposite side of the house, it has it's own bathroom." She opened a door, showing a bathroom behind. It was small, but updated, surprising Amelia. "We get to share this with the guys."

Amelia ignored Wanda's bunched up nose, feeling her heart skip at the reminder. This was partly the reason she was so hesitant on sharing a house with… specific people. There was a certain domesticity included that she wasn't so keen to jump into.

Wanda read her apprehension correctly. "Don't worry, it's not like everyone is here at the same time. The part-timers only show up a couple of times a week, sometimes even less."

"Part-timers?"

"Yeah, people like Tony who don't actually live here." Wanda gave her a knowing look. "Although, no one was surprised when he refused to stay here. It's gotta have room service or he's not doing it."

They walked past a closed door, yellow light bleeding from the bottom. "That's currently Clint's room. He's sharing with Bucky."

Amelia felt the muscles in her face freeze. She was dimly aware that Wanda was looking at her expectantly. She did her best to keep her reaction under wraps, not giving away that she was affected by the fact that they were separated only by a closed door. Wanda looked disappointed at the lack of expression.

"Anyway, this is our humble abode." Wanda opened the door at the far end of the hallway and Amelia stepped through. She was pleasantly surprised at what she found, having pictured everything under the sun, and then some.

The main focus of the room were the twin beds, pushed against opposite ends of the space. There was a bureau, random items scattered on the top, that took up a good chunk of the opposite wall. Amelia assumed the only door in the room led to the closet. The décor was simple, nothing ostentatious; a couple of lamps and a gray rug being the only accent pieces she noticed.

"It's nice," she concluded, meaning it.

Wanda responded by throwing herself on one of the twin beds. "I'd offer to help you unpack, but I'm assuming you didn't bring much."

Amelia nodded, making her way to the other bed. "Nat didn't leave me any time to pack. I had to clear my apartment in twenty four hours, be out of the state in forty eight." That wasn't quite accurate, Amelia admitted to herself. She had the opportunity to pack something decent, she just hadn't had the motivation. There was nothing she owned she couldn't be persuaded to part with.

"That sounds like our girl." Wanda flipped around, lying on her stomach and pulling a pillow under her chin. "How was it like? The outside world, I mean."

There was a certain innocence to Wanda's question, and Amelia had to remind herself the younger woman hadn't spent much time in the "real" world before she was recruited. She positioned herself on the bed, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase her answer. "It was different."

"Different from this life, or different to how your life was before all this happened?"

Amelia had to admire the perceptiveness of her companion, now roommate. "Yes, to both. I never had to second guess my decisions, never had someone overlooking my life, so to speak." She looked at Wanda, her attention completely given to her. "It was nice to be able to go out for coffee if I wanted to. It was also hard falling into a routine, having experienced so much."

Wanda sighed. "I've thought a lot about what I would have done if I'd never joined." She began chewing on her thumbnail, a faraway look on her face. "I might have actually gone to college, y'know. I certainly had the smarts for it."

Amelia knew for a fact she was being modest. "You joined right after high school, didn't you?"

Wanda looked down, a distinct tinge of sadness coloring her face. "Yeah. Seems like a lifetime ago."

"Couldn't you leave, if you really wanted to?" Amelia wasn't sure if she was crossing a line by asking her this. Her own decision to leave and the follow through were complicated, to say the least.

Wanda flashed her a weak smile. "None of us can leave, Amelia. That's just the way it is."

"I did," Amelia countered, but doubts were clouding her mind. _Had_ she really left?

Wanda seemed to read her mind. "Maybe, maybe not."

There was not much left to say after that, and Amelia was grateful. She didn't _know_ what else to say. At some point Natasha came by to check on her, although she tried to disguise it by claiming she had information to share.

"Get some sleep, Amelia. Tomorrow will be your first real day back and I won't hold back."

Amelia wasn't sure what to make of that, so she simply nodded and promised Natasha she would be ready for whatever she was throwing at her. To soon, however, she had to face the unavoidable.

Stepping into the hallway, footsteps light and quick, she made her way into the bathroom. The quick glance from earlier hadn't revealed just how masculine everything was. Wanda's feminine touches seemed to drown a midst all the slate grays, shaving cream, and razors. She clutched the toiletry bag in her hand (the only thing she had taken the effort to pack) and quickly determined she was _not_ going to leave any of her things here. She would lug that thing around every time she needed it, rather than risk having her personal items be up for anyone's viewing pleasure.

Wanda was already in pajamas when she returned, her hair up and her face devoid of makeup. "Natasha doesn't mind if I use the other bathroom, especially if ours is occupied."

Lights went out not too long after that, and Amelia tried her hardest to fall asleep. It wasn't easy, seeing as she had slept a good portion of the drive, but she knew it wouldn't bode well if she was sleep deprived the following day. Thoughts and events kept on flooding her mind, making it difficult to shut it off and fall asleep.

Her parents were at the forefront. By now they would have found her empty apartment. She had no doubt that they would have flown from sunny Florida to come find their daughter. She tried not to think about them, about the grief in her mother's voice when she spoke to her. She tossed and turned but couldn't quite make the images go away. Eventually, she admitted defeat.

Careful not to wake Wanda (she had fallen asleep straight away), she got out of bed and walked out of the room. She could hear soft voices coming from somewhere in the house, but she concluded there wasn't really anything wrong with what she was doing. Still, it felt like her teenage years when she would sneak out to meet her foolhardy friends. She quietly made her way outside.

The night was still and warm.

There was a light breeze, but nothing to cool down her already perspiring skin. She headed to the front porch steps, sitting down on the last one. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. The calmness of the night soothed her thoughts, forcing them to slow down from a race to a crawl. She once again focused on the beauty of the landscape around her, cast in shadows at the moment.

There was a vast space of land around the house, nothing but tall grass, bushes, and trees. In the distance, she had noticed the hard lines of rock formations, their size and shape impressive. She could hear a wooden wind chime near by, the sound melodic and haunting all at once. She wished,more than ever, she could be certain she had made the right choice by coming back.

It all seemed overwhelming, her parents, the reception of Tony Stark; even the kindness shown by the others felt like too much. She didn't feel she deserved it.

Amelia would have been content in contemplating her choice all night, if she hadn't had a visitor. She heard the front door open and felt the presence of someone before she heard the footsteps against the wooden porch.

She turned, expecting to see Natasha calling her back in.

But it wasn't Natasha. Or Wanda. It wasn't even Clint or Bruce. Tony would have been welcome at that point. That wasn't how life worked, Amelia realized, she couldn't chose when or how certain events unfolded. If she could, she wouldn't have chosen that moment, _that time_ , to meet Bucky Barnes once again.

He stopped at the sight of her, the dim porch light casting a shadow over his face, obscuring his reaction. She saw his hand on the door tighten, the door creaking under the stress. He was ridiculously strong, she remembered sharply, all the different ways he demonstrated that flashing through her mind.

She knew she needed to say something, felt it was the right thing to do. Her lips were stuck together, though, and words seemed to be a foreign concept she hadn't yet become familiar with.

He looked unsure of what to do himself, his jaw tense, and his eyes on everything but her face. She stood up hesitantly, her action drawing him out of whatever indecisive spell he was under. She saw him starting to retreat, saw him getting ready to turn back in.

"Bucky." He stopped at her voice, small and thready. She knew she had to say something quickly, before her nerves failed her. "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath, trying to calm down her beating heart. "About Steve… About everything."

The world stopped spinning for a moment and Amelia was convinced he was going to say something. He even turned slightly back to her.

He did not.

She watched in silence as he walked back inside, the door slamming behind him with a decisive thud. She didn't realize she was shaking until she tried to move and found she couldn't. Her knees wobbled as she sat back down, unable to shake off the sudden chill that had overcome her. It wasn't fear, she decided, this thing she was feeling.

She had known fear, once upon a time, had even been terrified of him at one point. This feeling, this overwhelming feeling, was new.

And she wasn't sure she liked it.


End file.
